10.22.2007 | 8:22 am
A few days ago I went on a nice lunch ride on the Fillmore. I rode along Wasatch Boulevard, a wide rolling road with a good shoulder, bike lanes for part of the road, and terrific views. A perfect I’ve-got-one-hour ride I can do right from my work parking lot.
Then, as I was returning to my office parking lot, it happened. A car passed me on the left in order to take the right fork in the road: A classic right hook. I jammed on the brakes and managed to not collide with the car.
Furious, I yelled at the top of my lungs at the driver…who I’m pretty sure did not hear me. Or if she did, did not care.
This, I thought, would have been an excellent opportunity for me to use my Laser Beams of Death.
Or would it?
Rules for Using the Laser Beams of Death
Years ago — after my first near-miss with an oblivious car — I developed a hypothetical weapon, along with a hypothetical limitation.
The weapon, of course, is the Laser Beams of Death. Originally, this weapon was a handlebar-mounted laser cannon that – for reasons that remain unclear — causes any target it strikes to explode in fiery and painful death.
My hypothetical Laser Beams of Death technology has evolved, however, to the point where I now can shoot the beams right from my eyes, triggered by a simple mental command.
The two limitations, however, are significant and unfortunately insurmountable:
- The Laser Beams of Death only work when I’m riding my bike. Not in a car, not in a boring meeting. Only on the bike.
- One can use the Laser Beams of Death only once in a lifetime.
I suppose these limitations are a good thing, because they prevent me from indiscriminately blowing stuff up. Since I can only use my Laser Beams of Death once, my target must be truly deserving.
So, with that in mind, would driver of the car who nearly right-hooked me have been the one? Would she have died in the fiery flame of my laser-induced vengeance?
Nah, I think I’d hold on. I have a suspicion I’m going to be angrier at someone else at some point. And when that happens, I don’t want to find myself in the embarrassing position of being totally Laser Beams of Death-less.
Your Laser Beams of Death
So: if you were equipped with my Laser Beams of Death (and their unfortunate limitations), would you have used them by now? And if so, on whom? And if not, what are you saving them for?
My favorite response gets a Twin Six Fat Cyclist T-Shirt.
I await your response with glee.
Comments (123)
10.17.2007 | 8:42 pm
As you are no doubt aware, I am a famous and beloved figure in the cycling community. I am regarded as both insightful and witty. Knowledgeable and self-deprecating. Gruff yet tender. Well-known yet easily accessible. And very, very prolific.
In short, I am the cyclist everyone remembers Bob Roll as being, back before he was primarily known for babysitting Al Trautwig through the Tour de France (and — hilariously! — mispronouncing the name of the race, in the name of never ever ever burying a very old hatchet).
As such, I am comfortable in practically any bike-related situation. I am happy to join a group ride even if I don’t know anyone; I know I will either hang and find someone with something interesting to say or I will get dropped and turn on my iPod.
I am comfortable meeting strangers on the road and trail. After all, we’re doing the exact same thing at the same place at the same time, so we must have other stuff in common.
I am comfortable giving directions to cyclists, both on the road and off, though I am generally quite certain that my directions are wrong. I figure that even though I am probably giving people directions to a place other than where they want to go, once they arrive at the place to which I have directed them, they will be glad of the journey. Plus, there’s relatively little chance I’ll ever run into them.
I am not, however, comfortable going into a bike shop where nobody knows who I am. I hate going into foreign shops. And by “foreign shops,” I don’t mean “shops in a foreign land,” I mean “any shop besides the one where I don’t have to tell them how to set up my brakes or what height to set my saddle, because they already know.”
I have my reasons.
Establishing Credibility Without Coming Off As A Vain, Boring Turd
When I walk into a bike shop, I don’t really need much. I just want to be revered as the famous and beloved cycling personality that I am. Would it be too much, for example, for the senior staff to drop whatever they’re doing — which, yes, includes helping other customers — and come attend to my needs? (That question was rhetorical. You shouldn’t feel compelled to answer it.)
Also, a comfy chair and a backrub while I wait for my bike would be nice. And I wouldn’t mind it if someone would come up and revere me a little bit. You know, ask for an autograph, beg me to tell some of my favorite biking stories, that kind of thing.
Instead, for some reason, I think I give off a strange “I don’t know anything at all about bikes” vibe to bike shop employees. Maybe it’s my gut. Maybe it’s the Dockers. Maybe it’s the male pattern baldness (yes, I shave my head, but you can still tell I have male pattern baldness). But they always act like I don’t know anything about bikes.
When I moved to Washington a few years back, for example, there was a bike shop about a mile away from my home. I came in, figuring this was destined to be my home away from home.
Instead, when I said I wanted some advice on a good lube for riding in Washington, they gave me a look that was specially designed to make me feel like I was retarded.
Of course, I wanted to explain that I actually know quite a bit about bikes. That I’ve been riding for years and years and years. I am not just a guy who casually and occasionally rides, either. I ride all the time. I talk about bikes all the time. I’m the guy in the neighborhood everyone asks their bike questions to. I’m the bike shops favorite kind of customer.
And I would have liked to explain this to them. But I just couldn’t find an opening. For some reason, it’s not easy to go into a bike shop and announce, “Hi, I’m a really experienced cyclist, so please accept me into the pack. You may, in fact, want to treat me as the alpha male.”
So I’m working on a couple introductions to make it clear that I’m really into cycling the next time I go into a strange bike shop. Tell me what you think:
- The Casually Hardcore Opening: “Hi, how’s it going?” (Wait for response.) “Oh, good. Hey, I was thinking of doing an easy century today, and wanted to know if you had any route suggestions.” (Wait for response.) “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t clear. I meant an easy mountain bike century. You know, something with no more than 14,000 feet of climbing.”
- The Know-it-All Opening: “Hey, how’s it going?” (wait for response, but don’t appear to pay attention.) “I see — without needing to walk around or glance at any of the price tags — that most of your bikes here are in the $400 to $1200 range. Is that what your customers tend to want? (Don’t wait for a response.) Where do they go to get their second bike, when they fall in love with riding and want something nicer than what you’ve got here?
- The Put-Them-on-the-Defensive Opening: “Hey, this is a cute shop. You got anyone here who isn’t just doing this as his summer job?”
Some of these are still a work in progress.
Frequent Buyer Discount, Or Lack Thereof
When I go into my LBS, I know that I’m going to get the best deal possible. Better than the best deal possible, even. If that’s possible. Which, I guess, it is not.
Anyway.
Here, nearly word-for-word, is the conversation I had with Racer when it was time to settle up and pay for my new Fillmore. I’m not saying what the actual numbers were, because I have a feeling Racer’s wife would not approve.
Racer: “That will be $XXX.00.”
Me: “What?”
Racer: “OK, I’ll drop it by $50.00″
Me: “That’s not what I meant. I don’t mind if you make a little bit of profit when you sell me a bike, Racer.”
Racer: “Whatever.”
Me: “Charge me $100 above that price. That’s the lowest I’d feel good about paying.”
Racer: “I’ll add $25.”
Me: “$75.”
Racer: “I’ll add $50, but that’s my final offer.”
Me: “This has been a very weird transaction.”
I don’t expect this kind of discount from anywhere but my local bike shop, but I’m pretty sure that non-local bike shops (NLBS) make up for the discounts they give to their friends by overcharging interloper customers.
Last week, I’m pretty sure I paid $8.00 for a tube, for example.
I Feel Old
I realize that bike shops tend to hire younger people. They work for cheap, and they don’t have to feed a family. But I swear that when I go into most bike shops, they are staffed by teenagers exclusively. Looking for a light setup for the Kokopelli Trail Race last year, I went into a shop near where I work and — I swear I am not making this up — the kid in the shop tried to get me to buy a couple of commuter lights.
He simply didn’t have a point of reference for any kind of riding that didn’t involve mad skillz on the halfpipe while wearing Vans and a BMX helmet.
I realize that I am 41. But please, bike shop owners who have never met me, have the courtesy to do the following:
- Have someone at the shop who is older than 20. Otherwise, I feel like I’ve somehow managed to stumble upon a boy scout troop.
- Forbid all your employees from ever calling anyone “sir.” I don’t know anyone who likes to be called “sir.” I understand the military is considering no longer using the word “sir.”
- Tell your employees that not everyone over 40 will necessarily want a hybrid, cruiser, or recumbent.
The Solution
Of course, I wouldn’t gripe and gripe and gripe if I didn’t have a solution. What I’d like to propose is a universal LBS members card. This is not something you could apply for, but when an LBS owner / manager feels you have become a truly loyal customer, he (I’d say “or she,” but I’ve so far never met a female LBS owner. Are there any, or are women too smart for that?) could issue you this card in a super-secret ceremony involving things like taking oaths, reciting slogans, and swearing to obey the law of the pack.
Then, whenever you’re at an NLBS, you could just show your card, therefore avoiding the posturing and hint-dropping. The card, in effect, would say, “This guy rides. Treat him / her like one of your own.” And then the NLBS employees could relax, joke around with you, call you by your first name, and give you the good buddy discount.
Oh, also, there would be a super-secret-bonus version of the card that tells the NLBS that the carrier is a much-beloved cycling celebrity, and that, as such, a comfy chair and backrub may be in order.
Comments (75)
10.16.2007 | 8:56 pm
An Extra-Special Note from Fatty: After writing yesterday’s piece about Oscar Pereiro, I came across the following picture, released by Pereiro’s team:
That’s real nice, Oscar. But you’re not the only one with a copy of Photoshop. It seems to me that you need second- and third-place winners, too. Let me help you out:
Wow. Kellene is getting some serious air. You know, I’ll bet Kellene woulda won the whole thing if she hadn’t gifted Pereiro a three-day head start. Hey, she wanted to see the sights, you know? And let’s all give props to the frog. After all, it’s not often you see a frog on the TdF podium.
Another (Self-Promoting) Note from Fatty: My latest article for BikeRadar.com is now online. As always, here’s a preview, but you may as well click here to jump to the article and read the whole thing. Oh, and comment the hell out of it, wouldja?
How to Get Rid of Unwanted Fitness
Like me, I’m sure you’ve worked hard through the Winter, Spring, and Summer getting yourself in peak physical condition. Whether you’ve been working toward excelling at racing, touring, or just want to be able to ride as much as you like, you’ve been true to your goals. You’ve dieted right, trained smart, and now you’re in great condition.
Which leads up to a very important question: now that it’s mid-Autumn, how can you lose this fitness as quickly as possible? After all, you can’t claim drastic gains at the beginning of the year if you don’t start working on your stunning fitness reversal right this instant.
Obviously, you’ve got important questions on your mind. Questions like, how can you gain back that weight? How can you lose the definition in your legs? How can you completely reverse the gains you’ve made in your aerobic capacity? And how can you do all this in the shortest time possible?
I’m here to help. Just follow these three simple techniques.
Click here to go to BikeRadar.com and read the rest of the article.
Comments (44)
10.16.2007 | 5:57 am
MADRID (Fat Cyclist Fake News Service) – In a gala ceremony held within a hotel conference room yesterday, Oscar Pereiro was officially crowned the champion of the 2006 Tour de France.
“I am truly pleased to award — at long last,” said Christian Prudhomme, director of the Tour de France, “the award for this race to Mr. Pereiro, an unimpeachably clean racer. You are a man I have long admired as a true champion, and are now recognized by all as the winner of the 2006 Tour de France.”
“This,” said Prudhomme, “is the satisfying conclusion to the 2006 Tour de France we’ve all been waiting for for such a long time.”
Pointing in the general direction Caisse d’Epargne team, he continued, “Oscar Pereiro was so strong in that race that nobody can legitimately doubt he is truly one of the brightest stars in the pro peloton today.”
“Who can forget,” said Prudhomme, “the way Pereiro valiantly accepted the gift of approximately thirty minutes in one of the stages of the tour? I am told it was quite moving, although I did not personally watch it, due to lack of interest.”
“But that is certainly not all,” said Prudhomme. “I was personally astounded at the way Pereiro . . . um . . . at the way Pereiro . . . uh . . . .”
Prudhomme then leaned over and asked an assistant, off-mike, “Did this guy do anything besides win the yellow jersey lottery?” The assistant shrugged and resumed his nap.
Concluded Prudhomme, “I want to make it clear to one and all that Pereiro’s win is nothing at all like winning a raffle. In particular, it’s nothing at all like someone winning a raffle because everyone else who had a ticket was kicked out of the party.”
Mr. Prudhomme then strode over to the Caisse d’Epargne team, hesitated for a moment, and handed the jersey and ceremonial stuffed lion to Alejandro Valverde.
Face reddening, Pereiro quickly grabbed the jersey from his teammate and put it on himself, while casting his eyes about, looking for someone to zip the jersey up in the back.
Not seeing anyone, Pereiro finally asked, “Where are the podium girls?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Prudhomme, looking at his watch. “Look, can we wrap this up? I have a 12:30 lunch meeting.”
Not Jumping the Gun
“This is an emotional moment, a day that I will never forget,” said Pereiro. “I am glad that it has been settled, once and for all, at long last, that I am the true and honest champion of the Tour de France.”
At this point, an attorney briefly whispered into Pereiro’s ear.
“Unless, of course,” continued Pereiro, “Floyd Landis wins his appeal.”
Pereiro continued talking, but could not be heard because a hotel tech person had turned off the microphone and began coiling up the cable, explaining that the sound system was needed in the next room.
In a short press conference following the ceremony, Pereiro was asked if he was perhaps jumping the gun by having this ceremony before Floyd Landis’ appeals options had run out.
“Shut up,” said Pereiro. “This is mine now. Mine.”
“Actually,” said an assistant to Christian Prudhomme, after explaining that Prudhomme himself would have loved to have been there himself but had other pressing engagements, “we do have a contingency plan worked out for this possibility.”
“If that were to happen,” continued the assistant, “we will have a special race between Landis and Pereiro. They will be given three options they can choose from to decide who is the real winner of the 2006 Tour de France: They can have a race, a leg wrestling competition, or a game of “Slap,” where Landis and Pereiro take turns slapping each other. The first one to cry loses.”
“We’ll take the game of Slap,” said José Luis Jaimerena, Caisse d’Epargne sport director.
What’s Next?
After the press conference, Pereiro sat at a couch in the hotel lounge with a stack of yellow jerseys beside him and a black Sharpie marker in hand, evidently making himself available in case someone would like an autographed jersey.
Asked what’s next, now that he’s the champion of the Tour de France, Pereiro said this afternoon he would go home and wait by his phone in anticipation of the product endorsement offers that would certainly be pouring in, any moment now. “I also expect to get a number of offers from other pro teams,” said Pereiro. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a Tour de France winner leading their team next year?”
“And now I have to leave,” said Pereiro. Asked why, he explained that hte team was getting together to celebrate his amazing 2006 Tour de France victory by eating at the Madrid Pizza Hut.
Comments (31)
10.12.2007 | 5:50 am
Loooong ago I needed a job for the summer, so I went to work at WordPerfect (a few of you will fondly remember WordPerfect) as a customer support operator.
There, one person at a time, I learned to dislike the human race. It was inevitable, really. When all you do all day is talk to people who are in crisis and need someone as a target for their frustration and anger (and, frequently, as a mask for their embarrassment at their ineptitude), your view of humanity starts to get a little skewed.
Well, it’s taken a long time, but I’m starting to revise that worldview. I’ve got three reasons why from just this week.
Reason 1. I Recognize that Jersey
Earlier this week, when I described my first ride on my new Fillmore, I left out a few parts.
First of all, I left out that I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved jersey (the original — and highly collectible — black and orange Fat Cyclist Jersey).
Second, I left out that any time I was not in direct sunlight, it was pretty darned cold. Cold enough, in fact, that there was snow still on the ground left over from Saturday’s snow.
And not just in one or two little isolated patches, either:
My question is, how did this happen? I swear, it was too hot to ride outside just a couple of days ago. And now there’s snow?
I’d like to file a complaint. I need a much, much longer period in between the too-hot-to-ride season and the snowshoeing season, please.
Let’s start a petition. Those are usually effective.
OK, back to the story.
Anyway, as I got to the summit — totally winded from the climb — I saw someone wearing a Pink Fat Cyclist jersey.
“Hey!” I yelled out.
He looked up, recognizing my jersey.
Everyone, meet Justin, a guy I have never met before, but who was wearing the Pink Lemonade Fat Cyclist jersey. He was out there in patchy snow, getting in a MTB ride before winter takes over completely.
I know there are more than 500 people like Justin out there, wearing the Pink Lemonade jersey to support Susan and fight cancer. People I’ve never met, but are doing something nice for Susan and me just because that’s the kind of people they are.
Reason 2. I Need a Lift
After I talked with Justin for a few minutes, I turned around and headed downhill toward home.
And that’s when I started getting cold. Really, really cold. The long shadows cast by the mountain in the afternoon, compounded with wind, compounded with a sweaty jersey, compounded with a nice little breeze, had me shaking with cold.
And then I got a flat.
I should now back up for a moment and reveal that before the beginning of this ride, I put together a new seat pack for my new bike, so I’d always have everything I need to change a tire, should I get a flat. However, as I did this, I realized I didn’t have a spare tube or a spare CO2 cartridge in my garage to put in this new pack.
I could have easily just moved the seat pack I keep on my other road bike over to the bike I was riding, but I made a decision: “Nah. It’s a brand new tire. It won’t get a flat.” And I also decided to not bother bringing my phone, since I don’t get a signal when I’m in American Fork Canyon.
It’s like I’m jinxing myself on purpose.
So there I was: halfway down the narrow mountain road, with a flat. No way to fix it.
Six miles to home. Time to start walking.
A truck with a trailer zoomed by, honking at me. I assume they were angry at me for choosing to take my bike on a walk on this narrow road, and miffed that they would now have to move their hand two inches and tap their brake slightly in order to avoid me.
This did not improve my mood.
Ten seconds later, though, a car slowed as it went by me. The guy in the passenger seat shouted out, “You OK?”
I shook my head, no. And in fact, I wasn’t OK. I was shivering cold.
They pulled over, popped the trunk, and directed traffic around them while I took the wheels off my bike (luckily, I did have my Jethro Tool with me). They were both coming back from doing some rock climbing, and said they’d be happy to give me a ride home.
To be clear, they made that offer before they knew that I lived relatively close and was pretty much on their way.
All the way home, we talked about how incredible Utah in general — and American Fork Canyon in particular — is if you love the outdoors, whether you’re a rock climber, a cyclist, a kayaker, or whatever.
In short: I waited for less than two minutes after getting a flat before getting a friendly, genuine offer of assistance. I know that kind of help wouldn’t always come that fast, but I say that it’s pretty darned cool that it comes at all.
Reason 3. Family, Friends, and Fat Cyclist Readers
Wednesday night, after a particularly bad day for Susan and me, I posted a scared, stressed-out message on my blog.
Yesterday, I heard from everyone in my family — my Mom dropped everything and came over, Kellene’s coming over to help for the weekend, Lori texted me from wherever she’s camping, Christy called, and Jodi commented on the blog and wore her Fat Cyclist jersey when she went running (where she was evidently seen by Bike Snob NYC on his way to work — small world).
Friends have called, emailed, and instant messaged me.
And more than 110 of you have left incredibly thoughtful messages of support. I have read every one of them, and Susan has, too.
Of course, this blog has always been — and will always be — primarily a goofy place for me to say whatever wrongheaded cycling-tangented idea that’s popped into my skull. But it’s incredibly reassuring to know that when I need to be serious, Fat Cyclist readers are more than happy to help me out.
Thanks.
Comments (59)
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